


Concealed

by mimsical



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Poetry, Relationship Negotiation, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, because enjolras, kind of, why enjolras why
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-05
Updated: 2016-08-05
Packaged: 2018-07-29 13:24:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7686190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mimsical/pseuds/mimsical
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>because everyone writes soulmates nowadays.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Concealed

Out of all the reasons people chose to cover up their soulmate tattoos, Enjolras’s friends seemed to have decided his reason must be something noble. Combeferre was the only one who knew otherwise, because he was the kindest person Enjolras had ever met and also because he had been there when the tattoo had first appeared on his skin. 

He practiced responses for the day he might meet that fateful person. Polite answers, excited answers, condescending answers, dismissive ones. So, of course, it didn’t play out that way. 

“Wow,” the newcomer, Grantaire, said, “I have never heard such completely entitled bullshit said by someone who thinks he’s so fucking great, and I’ve heard some truly terrible things.” 

Enjolras froze. Then spoke. “Fuck off.” Before he turned away to pretend that nothing was wrong, he saw the shock on Grantaire’s face before it was wiped away. 

(In retrospect, he probably couldn’t have picked a trickier answer. The chances that nobody else had ever or would ever say those words to Grantaire were slim.) 

Combeferre said nothing at first during the walk home. He sent Enjolras a few cautious, searching glances, but held the peace for him. Halfway back, Enjolras casually rolled back his sleeve to see Jehan’s poetry.  _ propelled by a thousand small voices —  _ he read. 

“Enjolras,” Combeferre said quietly. 

_ i and the Trees, one being —  _ The words grew more muddled where they crossed and obscured the words. 

He shoved his sleeve back down. “Sorry,” he said. “Let’s go home.” 

 

* * *

 

It took months, but after the initial shock, Enjolras saw that Grantaire was not a cruel person, just very difficult to understand. He said as much to Jehan one day. 

Ze raised an eyebrow. “I could say the same thing about you.” Jehan didn’t sound very impressed. “When I met you, I thought you were judgy and caustic. He’s complicated and hard to read until he opens up more.” 

Enjolras tried not to pull his sleeve down further over his wrist. 

“Come spend time with us,” Jehan said abruptly. “You don’t really know him at all, and you look dead on your feet anyway.” 

“And do what?” Enjolras tried to insert enough dubiousness into his voice to fend off the invitation. 

“Make tea.” Ze took his arm. “Baby, you need a night off. You’re coming. No arguments. If you hate it, take a nap and Grantaire will be there to stop me from drawing on your face.” 

“I think he would just laugh if you did that,” Enjolras protested, but somehow came along all the same. To his relief, “making tea” did not turn out to be a strange euphemism for “doing drugs”. Instead he filled up small pots of water to boil while Jehan went to bug the neighbor into letting them have some fresh catnip. 

“That’s a long tattoo,” Grantaire observed from the entrance to the kitchen. 

Enjolras reflexively jerked his arm in, close to his side, to make all the words invisible. “It’s two tattoos,” he said shortly. “Not just soul-words.” 

Grantaire nodded in his peripherals. “Jehan said you used one of zir poems?” 

Enjolras turned off the tap and set the pot down on the stove, resisting rolling his sleeves back down. “Ze doesn’t know what it says, if that’s what you’re asking.” Slowly, making a decision, he added, “I covered it because—” He stopped for a second. “I found it hard to accept, and then harder once, well.” He paused again and then offered his arm for inspection. 

Grantaire’s surprise was obvious. “I thought nobody knew your words,” he said. 

“You’d be the second,” Enjolras said, “since Combeferre was there when I got them.” He shrugged to cover the impulse to bolt out the door. 

Grantaire crossed the room to him and gingerly took his arm. 

“It’s harder to read because of the tattoo, of course,” he said. “But I think you deserve to know.” 

Grantaire was squinting. Enjolras recalled him making jokes about dyslexia a few weeks ago. “I’ve never heard trees — ah, no — heard such completely entitled — fuck. Fuck.” He let go. 

Enjolras rolled his sleeve down now. “Like I said, you deserve to know.” He didn’t check his facial expression, just screwed up the nerve to keep talking. “I’m not very brave with — relationship things, but, I don’t know.” He stared at the water on the stove. “I’m trying, I guess.” 

Grantaire abruptly yanked up his own sleeve to look at the neatly printed  _ Fuck off _ on his arm. “I thought maybe you were my soulmate, but I wasn’t yours,” he finally said. “That was pretty shattering, I’ll have you know.” 

Enjolras nodded jerkily. “I’m sorry.” 

The front door opened. “Everyone still alive?” Jehan asked cheerfully before pulling up sharply at whatever looks they both were wearing. “Dude, no. No sadness in my kitchen. What happened?” 

Grantaire curled away from him like burning paper curls over on itself. “Rain check on tea,” he said. He snatched his coat off the chair and all but ran out the door. 

“Holy shit,” Jehan said. “What’d you say to him?” 

“That he’s my soulmate,” Enjolras said. He realized he’d never managed to actually turn on the flame to heat the water. “Maybe I’ll just go home.” 

“Enjolras,” ze said, aghast. “Promise me you won’t let him think anything other than exactly what’s true, okay?” 

“I promise,” Enjolras said. On the bus home, he sent a test with the last of his courage.  _ if you want to I want to find out if we’d be happy together.  _

He hadn’t gotten a response back by the time he came face-to-face with Combeferre in the safety of their rooms. “I told him,” he said without preamble, then went and took his desperately-needed nap. Still no response by the time he woke up… at two in the morning. He wandered into the kitchen to get a snack, trying to be quiet for Combeferre, who somehow managed to have semi-decent sleeping patterns. He found string cheese, of all things, and stepped out onto their tiny balcony to make a phone call. 

“Hello?” 

“I guessed that you’d be awake,” Enjolras said. “Was I right? Because if not I’ll hang up and you can go back to sleep.” 

“I’m definitely not sleeping,” Grantaire said. “But that’s not too abnormal for me at this hour. Why are you up?” 

“I just woke up from a seven hour nap,” Enjolras said, “because sometimes I don’t sleep enough.” 

They were both quiet for a minute. Enjolras listened to the cars on the street below. 

“I’m madly in love with you,” Grantaire said conversationally. “That makes it complicated, right? An unbalanced relationship.” 

“I have no idea what love’s like,” Enjolras agreed. “Not the romantic kind. I know what I’d want love to be like, but I’ve literally never done this.” 

Grantaire sighed static into the phone. “We’re soulmates,” he said. “It’s supposed to work out. How badly could it go?” 

“Badly,” Enjolras said. “Considering our history.” 

“Okay,” Grantaire said. “I’m going to go to bed because my brain shuts down at this hour. Text me date ideas or something if you’re serious.” 

“Alright,” Enjolras said. “I’ll do that.” 

“Okay,” Grantaire repeated in a smaller voice. “Goodnight, Enjolras.” 

“Goodnight,” he echoed, and ended the call. 


End file.
